


diamonds and coal

by AdiAbieu



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 00:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdiAbieu/pseuds/AdiAbieu
Summary: She leans up. Alex stares back through heavily-lidded eyes.These are the human thoughts, the ugly thoughts, the ones that shouldn't make any sense but exist and provoke and motivate.





	diamonds and coal

**Author's Note:**

> This is slightly different than before :) hope its okay :)
> 
> This is AU post 3x23 where sanvers give each other another chance but it hasn't been working out as they had hoped.

Six weeks they’d been back together.

Six weeks since the packed out bar where she had bumped into Alex. They'd been sandwiched in by people heckling and baying to get their orders. 

There was no chance of escape, no awkward wave and side shuffle out. They were shoulder to shoulder with the mass pressing in around them, forced into a confrontation. 

It began with a simple greeting, with the acknowledgement of a haircut. Maggie had gotten her hair chopped to just above shoulder length after their break up, firmly believing in the trauma-healing remedy of a fresh cut. Even months down the line, she maintained the length, not letting it grow out again.

(Later, against the wall in the back room as couples argued and drinks sloshed onto the floor, Alex had gently played with the cut ends of her hair and nuzzled Maggie's jaw, whispering  _ I miss you so much _ .)

Six weeks since Winn's unofficial send off, with the man in question not even present. They had ended up drinking together for a while, Alex adrift from the rest of the group. She told her about the clean up in the wake of the Worldkillers, about the Legion, about Argo City.

Six weeks since the drinks had dulled the sense of right and wrong, blurred black and white into a swash of grey. Since she inched closer to put her hand on Alex's knee, to comfort her when the emotions poured through and Alex's eyes flooded with tears.

Maggie strained to make her out over the singing and shouting of the atmosphere, but she just about heard her as she spluttered her way through explanations of Kara choosing to take Mon El instead of her to Argo City, of J'onn leaving the DEO and the weight of new authority on her shoulders, of Winn turning his back on them without hesitation for a new future.

"Everyone's leaving, Maggie. They're all leaving."

And from Alex excusing herself, pushing and shoving her way out through the crowd, Maggie was a goner. She found her in the street, wiping at her tears. She pawed at Alex's wrist, encouraged her back inside.

And then, when they'd stolen away to a dark corner and Alex pressed kisses like pleas against her lips, she realised she never could resist her when she needed fixed.

When she had woken up in Alex's bed, she had been disappointed in herself for giving in so easily and making a mockery of all the recovery she had been through over the last six months. She had almost completely pieced herself back together, but the broken shards lay scattered over the bed covers.

Alex shuffled beside her. They said nothing for the longest time, and then, "You take your coffee the same way?"

"Nothing's changed."

Despite the weighty statement, Alex had carefully cradled the side of her jaw.

"Let's go out. There's no creamer left."

They both knew she hadn't meant the coffee.

The public space was more intimate than being alone. They were forced close, hunched in the wiry chairs of  _ The Purple Square _ . There could be nothing but good behaviour around strangers.

"I want another chance," Alex had confessed, glancing at the other patrons. A man on his laptop, a teenager slumped listening to music, a couple smiling at an envelope of photographs. "I do."

Maggie's head screamed at her to thank Alex, then refuse her, and walk away. But she hadn't. Two nights later, they'd gone to dinner. Then, it was Maggie's first appearance at a game night. Then a case she got to review with the new DEO director. Daily texts, meeting for lunch, spending the night at Alex's, and suddenly, they were seamlessly together again.

But, six weeks later, and it isn’t working out.

Not because they don’t want it, but because Maggie suspects they are too scared to express what they are truly feeling.

After the shiny period of relationship renewal, they had fallen into a false pattern. Alex had admitted she had fantasised about calling, about making up and promising her the world just to get her back, and Maggie had responded in kind. But now that they really were together again, it seemed that they were struggling to separate fantasy from reality.

It was fake smiles, not fighting over the small things, white lies told each day to keep up appearances. They were skirting around each other and trying to be nice. It was the sort of behaviour that was carried on when working with an unpleasant colleague. They avoided the scary topics. 

The  _ don't you still want kids _ ? 

The  _ are your friends actually telling you this is a bad dea _ ? 

The  _ does this mean we're getting married again _ ?

As Alex got to grips with her new role as Director, they existed in a bubble. For six weeks they had dated, spent time together, slept together. When Maggie walked Alex around her new apartment, it was as if she was a realtor trying to sell it to her, rather than someone showing off her home to her girlfriend.

The only time Alex seems at ease is in public. Any interaction with her friends and family has been awkward, like there’s been conversations with Maggie out of the room and the tension from them never goes away. Or like everyone knows something she doesn’t and they aren’t telling her. Kara just keeps adjusting her glasses and speaking with clipped tones.

When they’re alone Alex is a pushover. Demure, she refuses to disagree with anything that might ignite an argument, even over the smallest things. She used to go toe to toe with Maggie over things as trivial as the choice of shampoo brand, but now she agrees with anything that will diffuse the prospect of conflict.

That day, Maggie had tested this to the limit, carrying out all the things she knew used to drive Alex round the bend. She stacked the dishwasher wrong, she left her laptop on the charger even when it flashed full battery, she conveniently forgot to clear her hair out of the shower drain even after Alex had gently prompted her to.

She had watched the tension rattling through Alex, watched her breathe it out, before correcting each of Maggie's mistakes. 

Not once did she put up a challenge. 

When she abandoned a cup of coffee to go stale and cold, Alex smiled tightly and then disposed of it. Maggie remembers Alex's bitter face as she described the ring stains left inside mugs by doing this, and how it drove her up the walls when Kara did it. But she didn't even make a comment.

They had said  _ “I missed you”, _ had said  _ “Yes, I want you back”, _ had said  _ “You’re what I need” _ but not once had either of them said  _ “I love you.” _ They seemed afraid to cross that line again, happy with their artificial line in the sand.

Now, she watches Alex's shoulders rise and fall with sleep. They walk on eggshells around each other. Her girlfriend used to melt into Maggie's arms, now she stiffens.

But Maggie is a hypocrite. She's scared to challenge her on this, because then she would be the one rocking the boat. God knows, she had been lonely, and had to restrain herself from begging Alex to take her back on more than one night when the shadows loomed too large.

She blows out a slow breath, pressing her hand against her forehead. It's surreal to be back in this bed, with this woman. But she doesn’t see the point in this if Alex is not gonna meet her halfway.

And as for intimacy, well, something is missing there too.

Alex used to hold her wrists above her head and fuck her until she couldn’t even pronounce her name through her moans. Now they kiss as if they’re teenagers, restrained and borderline-chaste. There is something hesitant in the way she slips her hand between Maggie’s thighs and gets her off like it’s practical, not passionate.

Outside in the hall, the elevator pings. Two of Alex's drunken neighbours stumble out of the elevator. She hears their hushed laughter, the jumbled rhythm of their steps, the jangle of keys dropping onto the ground. She remembers nights where they were that couple. Alex would twirl her up the corridor, her eyes hazy with whiskey but her touch precise.

The laughter recedes behind a closed door. Maggie closes her eyes.

They are a bone that has been broken and then fixed wrong, and now would need to be rebroken to be healed.

She sleeps again, fitfully. Alex's kiss to her cheek as she leaves her at the precinct feels like more like forced effort than affection.

The morning is spent re-filing cold case reports that turn out to be useless, and in the afternoon Sergeant Bradley calls her out from the bullpen to the fire escape. 

Bradley pinches a cigarette between her lips, and offers the packet towards Maggie, who shakes her head. She flicks her lighter, takes a long drag and leans back against the iron railing.

"Got a toughie, Sawyer," she announces, looking out at the street below, "Could I borrow ya for the afternoon?"

"Sure," Maggie says, "What is it?"

"Kid who's covering. Mother died last year. Dad's not in the picture. Was picked up on the street and groomed into the Tunics," Bradley replies, her smoke puffing out across the fire escape. She holds up the cigarette, "You sure you don't want one?"

Maggie shook her head. She gave it up in college, unable to stand the smell of it clinging to her clothes and the walls, reminding her of Eliza's basement in those now-sullied teenage days.

"You'll need one after this, I swear," Bradley mutters, and turns away for a second, "I need you to work your magic, cause God knows I can't."

Bradley is a ball-buster, and for all of her tough act, Maggie has a reputation for an empathetic touch. She is the 'good cop', she draws out information with appeals and patience.  She doesn't gave criminals an easy ride by any means, but when she recognises the difference between the true evil and those who committed acts out of desperation or coercion. 

She adjusts her badge. She already imagines looping her badge through a chain. She'll let it swing from her neck, use those practised lines as she slips it off and pushes it away across the table. The physical separation plays into the game she will set up.

If a kid is lying out of fear, or needs protection, then Maggie knows she has to press against those wounds in order to coax a squeal. Part of her relates to those terrified kids who long for a sense of family and home again. She knows how to tailor her speech to remove the titles of cop and criminal, and make it two people who have lost their home and are searching for some sense of belonging and stability again. 

In the yard across from the precinct, she sees a three workers bagging coal off of a truck into flax bags. That tar-black colour rouges their hands and clothes, getting on their forehead as they wipe away their sweat.

"That's made of the same stuff as diamonds, you know?" Bradley says, motioning with her smoking hand, "That ugly stuff. Diamonds. They're the same."

"No way."

"It's true. Look it up." Bradley takes a long, last drag, and then puts the cigarette out and flicks the dead butt away. "Guess you gotta get your hands dirty for diamonds, eh?”

It is the sort of fact she would have text to Alex in the middle of the day. If they were in a better place, she would confirm this with her. 

"Let's go crack a kid," Bradley says, heading back inside.

Maggie lingers on the fire escape. She looks over at those three workers, now slapping their dirty palms on their thighs before wandering away for a break.

_ You gotta get your hands dirty for diamonds _ .

The interrogation and subsequent work takes her mind away from the situation, but when she receives a text from Alex about dinner she's brought back to the three workers, their smeared hands.

Sitting in National City traffic, she makes her mind up. She stops to pick up a bottle of Bulleit from the store at the end of Alex's block. Frontier whiskey is bitter, harsh, and tastes of old conflicts. It's perfect.

She has to force the ugly conversations, the ones they had been avoiding. Tiptoeing around each other would only take them so far, and ultimately lead them to their problems festering. The break down in uncomfortable communications had wrecked an engagement before. Maggie isn't about to let that happen again. 

Alex greets her with that weak smile, the one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She leans in to kiss her cheek but Maggie catches her chin and captures her lips. Alex inhales sharply in surprise, her hands fumbling to Maggie's hips.

With a rustle of the grocery bag and a smack of their lips, Maggie pulls back from her dazed girlfriend.  She turns and marches to the island without comment.

Otherwise, dinner goes off without a hitch. She compliments the flavour, tells Alex to leave the dishes, and waves her back to her seat. Pushing the plates away, she pulls out the Bulleit and plants it heavily between them. 

After a confused twitch of eyebrows at the whiskey brand, Maggie jumps into the deep end.

"We need to talk."

A flicker towards the whiskey. "And this?"

Not acknowledging the stall, Maggie presses forward. “We can’t do this again unless you’re with me one hundred percent.”

"I-"

"No, you're not." Maggie breaks the seal on the Bulleit, uncapping it, letting the air get at it. "And I'm not with you, either."

"What is this?" Alex's shoulders slump as she drops her facade, looking over with defeat.

"This is us working all the kinks out."

The choice of words isn't lost on Alex, who flinches at the implications. But no, sex would not become a way for them to wrap themselves in each other and ignore the issues entirely.

Not yet, anyway. Not before dealing with this verbally.

Alex clears her throat, palming the back of her neck. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"We're gonna talk about all the things you know we're avoiding. And I want you to be honest, no matter how much you think what you're gonna say will hurt me." Maggie taps the crimson label. "That's what this is for."

Alex's lips curl into a sneer at the very thought of putting the bottle to her lips, but she hasn't gotten up to walk away, so Maggie knows she's hooked her in somehow. Restless fingertips drum at the table top, push away the plates a few more inches, and toy with the ends of her hair.

Finally, Alex asks, "We're really having this talk." She leans back, looking up at the ceiling. Maggie recognises the sadness, the realisation that the happy bubble they had lived in had burst, and they would have to face the grim realities once again. She watches the fan whirring against the summer air, and says, "Who goes first?"

"I will, " Maggie says,

Alex chews her bottom lip, following the slow revolutions of the fan, so Maggie speaks again.

"Is your family happy about this? About us being back together?" Alex hesitates, mouth opening and closing. Maggie knows a lie is blooming on her tongue. "No. I don't want bullshit. Tell me the truth."

Alex fixes a stare straight at her. She worries the inside of her cheek, and then admits, "My mom is. Kara isn't." Maggie raises her eyebrows. "Kara thinks I should have been moving on. She thinks this is a step backwards for me."

Maggie's suspicions are confirmed. She grants Alex the bottle, pushing it over. "And your mom?"

That weak smile again, this time reaching Alex's eyes. "My mom loves you. And she loves who I am when I was with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When I was happy. When I was..." She struggles to find another word, but goes with it. "Happy."

At that, Alex swings the bottle up in a smooth arc to her mouth, taking two swallows before grimacing and putting it down firmly in front of Maggie.

"Okay," she croaks, "Now me?"

At the dull pain of Kara's doubt, of the negative influence she could have, Maggie craves cruelty. She wants to cause a whiplash reaction between them, she needs something other than the fake friendliness that they had now. 

She needs to know if they have a real chance. She wants them naked, wants the ugliest thoughts out on the table between them.

"What's bugging you? Cause there are things up here-" Maggie taps the side of her skull, "-that you aren't telling me. Things that are affecting our relationship, but you won't talk to me about."

Alex throws up her hands, the first sign of frustration that she's shown in six weeks. She scarpers around for something, finally blurting, “How bad do you want me to get? You want me to admit you've been driving me nuts these past few days with-"

“Worse.”

She blinks at the interruption. "What?"

"Worse. Much worse. It's gotta be real."

_ Hurt me, you coward. _

With a huff, Alex closes her eyes. Plucks deep within. “When I came out, I don’t think you lied about your parents to protect me." Her words are measured, almost rehearsed. Maggie imagines her sitting on Kara's couch, telling her exactly the same thing. "You lied about them because it was a lie you’d practised over and over again and told to dozens before me.”

Throat tightening, Maggie curls the Bulleit towards her. "And?"

"And sometimes I looked back at that and wondered what else you'd lied about at the beginning," Alex replies. She looks at the plates, as if they would answer her, and then adds, "You know, all that stuff with Emily? When she told me you cheated, part of me wasn't even surprised. Of course you'd lie to hide the parts you were scared to show."

Maggie's knee begins to bounce under the table. Alex upturns her palms. "Real enough for you?"

She had been closed off to so many for so long, that Alex reaching those vulnerabilities had felt foreign, invasive almost. She had learned to let her girlfriend in, to trust her with those terrible memories. But then Alex had pushed her towards contacting her father, had pushed and pushed about kids, and Maggie felt like she was suffocating, so she became closed off again.

During one of their final arguments, Alex had told her to stop shutting herself off, and Maggie felt slapped by the audacity. 

This conversation is a way to avoid that suffocation again. It is either going to defuse the bomb or have it blow them both to pieces; either option sits better than listening to it tick in the corner.

The tone set, Maggie slugs down a mouthful of the whiskey. The Bulleit scrapes across the table as she passes it back.

"I want you to admit that going after Emily had nothing to do with defending me. You went because you were jealous."

Old news, but how often it unravels the present. The revelation on Alex's couch, the acceptance of past sins, had opened up that whole new chapter of intimacy in their relationship. It was why their lack of communication over having children and then ending their relationship struck such a dissonant chord.

That night had forced out a truth that Maggie would never have wanted her to know. While she was glad in the long run, she got feelings of paranoia sometimes that Alex didn’t trust her. Eventually, Maggie had to tell her the story of the actual incident, simply to quiet some of the questions she knew were eating at her girlfriend.

Alex didn't deal well with insecurity. She reacted badly, reacted without thinking. Said and did things that were increasingly unstable and irrational. Again, why panic had set in after the day at the marina.

Maggie digs deeper when she doesn't answer right away. "I want you to admit that you were insecure about me seeing an ex-girlfriend, and you forced that entire situation."

"I was jealous," Alex says, reaching for the whiskey, "She was beautiful. Accomplished. And the way you said her name, spoke to her..."

After the drink she takes, her gaze flickers over Maggie's face, and Maggie wonders if she's being read. Regardless, there are two trained body language experts present, and no matter what the agent is trying to do to mask it, there are some warning signs flashing up. 

"You think I'm lying about something now?" Maggie guesses, "Since we've been back together?"

"I don't think you're lying." Alex relaxes further. Her features have darkened, her legs eased apart. She's staring at Maggie as if she's prey. "But I think you're hiding. I didn't push because I didn't want you to close off to me again. I want to get back to where we were. I just don't know how."

Maggie hears the plea, the first attempt to change the track of the hurtling train that is this conversation. Instead, she lobbies an accusation.

"You don't want to push because you don't trust me not to hurt you."

Alex motions at the Bulleit. "Can you blame me?"

The rapid return is like the swinging of saloon doors before a stand off; back, forth, squealing to a silent bar.

Maggie sees a dead end. Sees the way this road leads to petty fighting, to a turning away of the real issues. She tugs the Bulleit over.

“I got imposter syndrome. All the time.” She takes her swig early, and then lets it burn down to her stomach before elaborating. “Your mother being nice to me, your nice house, your money, your government job. Sometimes it made me, makes me, well…”

"Make you feel like you aren't good enough for me?"

The question is gentle, a far cry from the ringing tension. Maggie nods.

"Then maybe you understand why I went after Emily."

Alex reaches over and gently brushes along her knuckles. It's the first real affectionate thing she's done in six weeks. The arm slung around her shoulders, the hand-holding, the careful combing of fingers through hair; they had all been absent until now.

But Maggie isn't prepared to melt just yet. "Then maybe you understand why you pushing me to make up with my father and then coaxing me to have kids with you might have made me feel like I wasn't good enough to fit your mould."

Alex tenses, but she doesn't pull away. She accepts the rebuke. The slap across the face. She traces around Maggie's knuckles anyway.

The first test is passed. They still fit. They have bridged across some painful scapes.

"Now," Maggie says, pivoting. "Drink."

Alex doesn't break her stare, taking a long swig of the Bulleit. It lands with a thump, and then scrapes across the wood towards Maggie.

"My relationship with Kara isn't the same. It won't ever be again," she says. All the time, she dances figures of eight around Maggie's knuckles. "When we got together, she pulled away from me, and when I needed her most, she was so distant..."

"She's still your sister."

"I needed her after we broke up, I really did. But she was so far. She just kept patting me on the shoulder and telling me to move on. It was almost like she had no empathy..." Alex takes a steady breath, her eyes flashing with danger. "On my lonely nights, I blamed you for that."

Carbon into coal, she thinks. Each of these has been a cool lump, but this one is on fire. 

Maggie can't hold back. “Sometimes I think your need for children was less about you being a mother, and more about not disappointing Eliza by not having them.”

Alex gasps like Maggie has hit her in the sternum, winding her. She looks away, trying to catch her breath again, her eyes shining. Yanks her hand from Maggie's as if scalded.

"Shit," she whispers.

Maggie knows she's struck out, drawn blood. She knows Alex will draw blood in return.

Alex's hands tremble. She takes the dishes and lashes over to the sink. Maggie grabs the Bulleit and pursues. She can't let her escape. Not now. Not when there's blood in the water. 

The alcohol thickening in her veins her head spins slightly as she rounds the island. As dishes are stacked into the sink, the fury boils on Alex's expression. She whips back around.

"Why would you even-?"

She stops herself, her teeth clacking together.

Because last time, she wants to reply, it was all sad broken looks and tears and empty arguments.

It was never the deeper issues. Kids had struck a nerve for both of them, and instead of explaining themselves, they had run from it. The very mention of kids that day at the docks had clawed chunks from their bow like a rocky riverbed at shallow tide. Instead of trying to repair it, they had ignored the damage and allowed water on board until it was too late and they sank into icy waters.

"I've been doing some thinking, about me, about you, about us," Maggie says, leering closer, "And if we're going to really take another shot at this, we need to get it right. Which means talking about the things we don't want to."

Alex's eyes narrow. "I'm your girlfriend, not your therapist."

"And right now you feel like neither." Maggie stakes the Bulleit onto the island between them like a sign post. "You said Kara isn't happy with us. How's that affecting you?"

"She doesn't- it isn't-"

"But she whispers in your ear, right?" Maggie sees the whites of Alex's eyes as a fresh wave of rage shimmers through her body. She coils tighter, like a panther, and Maggie is in her path. "She can pull your strings, Alex and you know it."

"Don't even go there," Alex warns.

_ Prove you want me. You want me to be your wife and you want us- _

A fork slides off a plate and clatters down into the belly of the sink. A dark excitement has eclipsed Maggie's chest. She reaches for the Bulleit, swings, hands it over.

"Again," she rasps.

Alex has the bottle by the neck, and looks as if she's considering smashing it on the island. Instead, she speaks again, low and sure, “I lied, when I told you about Sara. I lied when it was terrible.”

Sara. The one night stand. Maggie recalls her breaking the news. Recalls the stuttered nervous schoolgirl giggle, the way she immediately stifled it and fed her line upon line of excuses, unprompted. 

“In the morning I felt regret, and longing, and I missed you. But the sex..."

Maggie’s stomach pulls at the semi-blissful tone. She had suspected that was the case. Alex had been too adamant about always thinking about Maggie, perhaps being embarrassed and not wanting to talk about another woman with her, but it was bound to come up again eventually.

Alex lets out a shrill, slightly disbelieving laugh, relieved at finally saying it.

“I was so relieved. Because it wasn’t a fluke. I could have sex with another woman and not feel like I had with men.”

She shifts on her feet, paces back and forth, caged.

“It was good. Not like we used to,” she concedes, dipping her head and fixing her stare right back on Maggie, “But it was good.”

Maggie sets her face like she's trying to preserve her dignity, but the truth is she's thinking about Alex's face awash with pleasure caused by another woman's touch. She thinks of the sounds, the way Alex's breath begins to stunt, her hips flexing up just so. A stranger got to experience that gift.

“Part of me wanted to tell you, talk to you about it." Alex rubs at her forehead, that surrealism not abating. “It’s so stupid, I know. And it’s not...right.” She stares off for a minute, directing her next statement to the window, voice quietening as if it is sinking into her ribcage. “But we used to share all those new experiences together. And part of me...didn’t catch up to reality.”

A lifetime of firsts. Maggie hears it, sees it in the glossy shine over-coming Alex's eyes. The first real one night stand might not have been one on their list, but she could empathise with Alex's excitement. It isn't reasonable, it isn't logical, but she understands it.

After the passing of the Bulleit, the exasperation of the last ten minutes, Alex’s eyes are stormier, glassier. Almost bitter.

“So now you,” she concludes.

Maggie clenches her jaw. “I’m not possessive. I don’t get jealous, you know this.” She points at Alex's chest. “But the thought of you with some pretty blonde…”

"Yeah, well, I'm not with her," Alex dismisses, pointing right back, "I'm with you."

As the seconds tick, reeling from the statement, Maggie expects her to pounce. But she stands her ground. 

Maggie lunges, gripping a fistful of Alex's shirt. But her girlfriend is ready for her, threading her hands straight into her hair. Their kisses are angry, bruising to the point where she thinks Alex might break away and shout at her or slap her. She groans, anticipating Alex gripping her jaw, fire in her eyes.

This isn't heartbreak. This isn't tugging someone to bed, listening to Cyndi Lauper, crying tears into each other's necks even as they tenderly rutted against each other.  This isn't making love one last time, as a farewell.

This is fighting for survival, proving that they still want this. 

Maggie gets pushed against the island. It jars her back. Alex nips at her lower lip and tries to lift her onto the surface but she pushes those hands away with a growl and strips off her shirt instead. Another shirt hits the floor, and they're topless, heaving ribs pressed together.

Blunt nails dig into her spine and scratch in a pleasant burn as Alex sucks under her jaw. She used to wear those red stripes with pride, but it was always a symbol of her taking Alex. This is different; it's an order of submission, of bending her body to fit against Alex's and receive all that she was about to be given.

Maggie went on a date with a photographer once, who had taken her to a gallery in Gotham. For three hours, she had stared at pictures of fire. They were vivid, vibrant colours, licking at the darkness of the frame, but at the end of the day, Maggie knew it was just a bunch of pictures of flames.

Now, she is one of those photographs. Alex uses her hips to trap Maggie against the island like those sleek, black frames. Her arms cage her in, body following the curve and shape of her own. Alex takes a notion of mouthing along the junction of Maggie's neck and shoulder, and she begins to burn up.

Returning her lips, Alex's tongue teases sinfully. She yanks open the button of Maggie's jeans, pulls them along with Maggie's underwear down only to above her knees. Enough to uncover her, but to keep her trapped at the same time.

Alex doesn't bother with formalities, she touches Maggie in a way she hasn't since their break up. She touches with assertiveness, with confidence. She doesn't give Maggie time to be embarrassed at the amount of her arousal.

Her eyes shutter closed, mouth dropping open in a moan at that initial stretch. She wonders if she should be embarrassed at her heavy breathing, the way her hands grip desperately to undulating shoulder blades, the slick sounds of Alex's fingers building that steady rhythm inside her.

“Hey, look at me,” Alex says. 

Maggie manages hooded eyes. Alex grips her chin and she snaps awake as if from a lull. Right there in that twisted sneer is the authority, the coiled strength. This is the woman who leads a government organisation, who took an oath to protect humanity from extraterrestrial threats even if it costs her life one day. 

This Alex has been absent. The brave, the fearless, the feral; the skilled marksman, the hunter, the one who tried to intimidate Maggie off a crime scene all that time ago. 

Those lewd wet sounds between her thighs punctuate the fiery anger in Alex’s eyes. Heat buffers her body with each push inside her, and she almost loses herself again to the hot fog of her arousal, but the grip on her chin keeps her anchored.

Maggie has pushed her buttons and brought up taboo topics; her sister, her mother. She remembers when Alex would cry about a single statement her mother said. They would curl up together on the couch and Maggie would offer any comfort that was accepted. She’s trying so hard to push back into that intimacy again, and Alex has reacted like this. 

“I’m here with you,” Alex promises, burying her fingers deeper, pushing until Maggie begins to shake. “I’m right here with you.”

Ablaze, she reaches down to claw at Alex's wrist, encouraging as her gasps become pants, and then pleasure erupts. Maybe it was the inevitable climax after the anticipation through the evening, or maybe it was finally being fucked like this by the woman she loves, but Maggie’s eyes roll back, thoroughly lost to ecstacy for those golden moments.

After, as she fumbles for the island to support her weight, Alex kneels and wrangles off her boots, jeans and underwear. This time when she attempts a lift, Maggie lets her. 

She wraps her legs around Alex's waist, kissing her lips, her cheek, her chin, her jaw. As they reach the steps to the bed, she sucks and nips and then bites at Alex's lower lip until she makes a noise of protest.

She flips them as soon as they're on the mattress. Alex scrambles to turn on the bedside lamp as Maggie shoves her bra above her breasts and starts in on using her mouth to make Alex writhe. She uses her teeth too eagerly, and Alex grips a fistful of her hair, hissing in warning. She moves to the other, pressing a hand right along the soft cotton of Alex's pants. The sweats she wears for comfort around the apartment makes it easy for Maggie to slip past her waistband, make Alex tilt her hips upwards.

Even as she teases her fingertips through wet heat, she can't stop thinking about that other woman. There is a part of herself that wants Alex all to herself. 

The stupid, possessive, tipsy, immature voice in her head tells her that a piece of Alex had been given to someone else. 

Maggie will never be the only name on that list again.

She leans up. Alex stares back through heavily-lidded eyes. There in her mind are those men, again, their coal stained hands. These are the human thoughts, the ugly thoughts, the ones that shouldn't make any sense but exist and provoke and motivate.

"Maggie," Alex moans softly, shifting her hips against the hand in her sweatpants. "Please?"

Maggie doesn't immediately relent. She watches the undulating bulge of her hand in Alex's sweatpants as she teases and teases. She can't help but wonder if that other woman - Sara - if she was in this position; Alex blushing and wet beneath her. 

Of course she was. Under different circumstances; a pre-wedding dinner, a dress pushed up around hips or wrinkled on the floor perhaps. An unfamiliar hotel bed. Was Alex’s dark stare on her like this, both expectant and begging?

She starts to mark the expanse of milky flesh down the centre of Alex's chest to her sternum. She passes scars she used to trace with her tongue, used to know like the back of her hand. She finds new ones, too. Red and unfamiliar. They are symbols of times she wasn't there for.

She's here now.

She draws the sweats down angled hipbones, and then spreads Alex's legs obscenely wide. Even in the soft glow of the lamps, there is nothing she can hide. Her own centre throbs again, revived at this sight.

With how Alex wraps her fingers around the curve of Maggie's skull, it's clear she doesn't want to hide.

For six weeks, she’s endured sex that gratified but didn’t satisfy. Orgasms that lasted only as long as their physicality, and led to nights spent sleeping apart. She knows Alex has experienced the same. But now Maggie seeks to erase the last six weeks, erase that other woman in those hotel sheets, erase the last night they made love here. 

She wants Alex to remember this one.  

She doesn’t back off as usual when Alex’s thighs tense up around her, when fingers tighten in her hair because she’s latches onto a spot that is edging on too sensitive. She wants each sharp moan, jerk and cry. She reaches up with one hand to toy at Alex’s chest, pinching just a little bit harder than preferred. 

And when Alex comes, it’s as if an electric current has gone through her, bowing her off the mattress, Maggie’s relentless pursuit causing each bolt of pleasure.

A collapse, a weak plea, and Maggie pulls back, wiping at her mouth. She pushes Alex’s knees flat, and then smoothes her hands up twitching thighs, around jutting hipbones and up to thumb over red bruises. She straddles Alex’s hips, easing them together, and then leans down to kiss Alex’s heaving breast bone.

"I love you," she murmurs, lost in the ridge of a sweaty collarbone.

Six weeks, and she finally says it. The words taste of Alex, Bulleit, and sweet relief. 

Maggie kisses there again, and then leans up. The stinging scratches, the swollen lips, the angry welts and bites. They speak of passion finally given a voice once more.

Alex takes a deep breath, reaching up to push Maggie's hair behind her ears. "I love you, too."

They regard each other in the glow of the lamp. Maggie sees the receding lust, the encroaching doubt. She isn't sure, now that they have broken the bone again, how to go about fixing it right. 

She wonders if marriage is still on the cards, if kids is something they will work towards, if more uncomfortable conversations about Kara and Eliza must be had. 

But mainly, she wonders if there are two diamond rings still in this apartment. 

“You know, diamonds and coal are both made from carbon,” she says suddenly, out of the blue. “Course you probably already knew that, you nerd.”

“I’m your nerd,” Alex teases softly, finally blooming into a smile.

“You are.”

A burst of something akin to taking a breath after holding it runs through her when Alex nods as a second confirmation.

"We're all good? For now, anyway?"

"We're good," Alex agrees, pulling Maggie in by the back of the neck and nuzzling along her jaw, her other hand splaying down at her tailbone, embracing her. That lazy, easy, intimacy has fallen back around them like a blanket. 

"We have a lot to talk about."

"I never should have let you go," Alex whispers, lost in Maggie's hair. “I’m sorry for all of this.”

"Don't think about it." She kisses over a collarbone, marked by zealous teeth. "Just...don't think. Be here with me now."

"I am," Alex relents, hugging her closer. "I'm here with you."

_ That's good enough for tonight _ , Maggie thinks. Tomorrow, they can start to heal. 

She sets her ear against Alex's breastbone and remembers when they had pried open twin boxes, two weeks after the Daxamite invasion. Plucking the rings out and fitting them snugly on each other's fingers, they spent almost forty minutes admiring how they glinted and glimmered in the sun. 

They lie in a bed of coal smears; maybe one day they can earn back those diamonds.

Satisfied, safe and loved, she lets the steady beat of the heart under her ear lull her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked it


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